


Adoptif Fils: The Beginning

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, M/M, Out of Character, Slash, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-01
Updated: 2005-11-19
Packaged: 2018-09-30 12:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10162826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: ABANDONED DMHP preslash. Adopted Harry fic. AU. Vernon doesn't want the freak anymore, and decides to leave his ten-year-old nephew with someone else. Dumbledore isn't going to like this Harry. Slytherin Harry and Hermione





	1. Cast Me Off

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Vernon Dursley, or any other character found within J.K. Rowling’s prestigious novels. Likewise, I also do not make any profit from this fanfiction, nor do I intend it as any form of slander. 

 

Warnings: Child neglect, minor child abuse, AU that is so extreme that even the most liberal canon reader would be disgusted, and an insane, dangerous author who enjoys messing with things. 

Chapter One 

He did not want to go home.

He wasn’t sure exactly when it was he had begun to call the house in which he lived home. He hadn’t called it so when he was younger. As it was, he had always referred to it as his ‘Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon’s house’, or ‘that one’ when pointing it out to an inquirer. He thought it might have started at the beginning of the year, when Albert Fortsworth had poked fun at him for a week straight on not having a place to call his own. It made him unique; different. And different was bad.

Harry James Potter slowly made his way down the street known as Privet Drive, where he had lived for the past nine years (his family had made sure to drill this into him; so that he would always remember that he had not been born there, and in sense, it not being his ‘home’ in any way). His head was hung low, the afternoon rain that fell from the gray sky lightly pelting his lithe body as his emerald eyes examined his worn trainers with feigned fascination. He refused to look up, knowing full-well that the ever-nosy neighbors of number six and number three were watching from their windows, scowls in place at the sight of, as he had come to be known, ‘that Potter boy’. Clenched in his face, more battered than a house hit by a category five hurricane, was a white envelope, the words ‘To the Guardians of Mr. H. Potter’ written neatly across. This innocent-looking letter would be the reason behind him being locked up in his cupboard for the rest of the week, and oh how he hated it for that! 

‘It’s not like I was the only one fighting,’ he thought, a small scowl appearing over his child-like face, which was instantly followed by a small flinch as it caused the muscle of his back eye to move. ‘Anthony just got off the hook because he’s the Headmaster’s grandson.’ His backside still ached from the paddling he had gotten before being sent home…the aged Headmaster had not noticed his blue hair as he had sent him from the office…

As number four came into view, the rain began to fall harder, stinging his already tender skin with its ferocity. Picking up his pace, he dashed for the porch, gaining the roof’s protective cover. Even the weather had turned against him.

He tested the door handle, only to realize that it was locked tight, and that Aunt Petunia’s car was nowhere in sight. That was an oddity in itself, as he could not remember his aunt ever leaving the house when she had a nephew to send out for the things she needed. In fact…he had gone shopping for her yesterday, picking up the extra things he knew she would need throughout the week but had not put on the list. And her Garden Club wasn’t until Thursday…and her Book Club had been yesterday. Perhaps Mrs. Figg had lost one of her cats again… but then again, her house was within walking distance, which wouldn’t explain the missing car…

A large boom of thunder interrupted Harry’s thoughts, and an involuntary shiver flowed through his body. He longed for the warmth of Mrs. Figg’s old Victorian styled couch, or even the safe confines of his cupboard; staying out here ran the risk of a nosy neighbor coming over and asking questions, which set Uncle Vernon off more than anything, and gave the horrifying possibility of a beating. But there was no other alternative, and so the ten-year-old nephew of Mr. and Mrs. Dursley maneuvered himself to the most secluded and warm of the four corners, drew his legs to his chest, placed his head on his knees, and fell asleep, soaking wet and shivering.

.T. 

Vernon Dursley's face was purple as he gave the steering wheel a sharp turn, causing the tires to screech as the company car turned onto Privet Drive. Not thirty minutes ago, he had been speaking with Mr. Hawthorne, the owner of Grunnings, who had seemed keen on giving him a raise for his perfect performance at work. A raise that would be used to purchase Dudley the new Macintosh computer he had been asking for, for his birthday, and Petunia that new china set she had had her eyes on for the past month or so. It was not as though he intended to use the money selfishly; so why had the Fates seen fit to punish him with that bloody phone call?

Headmaster Davis of Iron Wall School for the Mediocre Student had rung up his office just as Mr. Hawthorne had been about to sign the contract, and Vernon, being ever absentminded, had hit the speaker button, thus allowing his boss to hear all about his...nephew's...recent behavior. The man had instantly shooed him out the door so that he could take care of the boy, informing him that the raise could be done at another time. However, Vernon knew that there would be no second chances; there never were for the workers at Grunnings. He had had the chance to gain a raise...and that boy had taken him from it.

"I'm not a bad uncle," he said to himself as he neared his house, voice steadily growing fiercer. "I took him in, I gave him a place to sleep, allowed him an education, pay for his food. And this is how he repays me?" He was now clutching the steering wheel so tight that his fingers had gone white. "Well, not anymore," he finished, pulling into the driveway. Beady brown eyes narrowed at the sight of the huddled figure on the porch. "Not any more."

He wiggled his way out of the car, mustache twitching with rage, and slammed the door hard, causing the figure on the porch to jump up, and stare at him with fearful green eyes. Vernon felt a pang of satisfaction when he noted the small boy was shaking. Without saying a word, he ambled his way to the porch, up the stairs, and to the door, unlocking it with one turn of his key. His eyes darted towards his nephew, and when he spoke, his voice contained quiet anger.

"Inside. Now." The child hurried to comply, darting as far away from the obese man as he could, and Vernon followed in behind him, taking his eyes off the lithe frame long enough to close the door, before rounding on him once more.

"Where's the letter?" He demanded quietly, reaching out his hand expectantly. Harry hesitated, lifting his left hand only enough for Vernon to see the destroyed the envelope. With an impatient growl, Vernon clutched the small hand in a bone-crushing grip, causing Harry to bite his lip in an effort not to cry out as he wrangled the letter from his fingers. Shooting the younger boy a glare, Vernon tore the letter open, mindless of the envelope, and read the letter out loud.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, 

I am writing in concern of your nephew, Harry Potter. It has been reported to me by his teacher that lately young Harold has been having some trouble with students in his class, particularly my grandson, Anthony. Harry has been in numerous fights this past term, all of which the other students claim he started. 

It is with the utmost sympathy that I inform you that Harry, starting the next school term, will have to attend St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. The guidance counselor feels that this would prove to be beneficial to Harry's behavioral problems. 

Sincerely, 

John Davis 

Headmaster 

Vernon stared at the letter, mouth doing a very good impression of that of a fish. St. Brutus'? Wha-What would the neighbors say? He and Petunia wouldn't be able to go out in public for weeks!

"Uncle...Uncle Vernon?" The man turned his eyes to his nephew, staring at him as though in a drunken stupor. When he replied, his voice was filled with rage, and spittle flew from his mouth and onto Harry's face.

"Cupboard. Now." Harry flinched at the harsh tone, but hurriedly obeyed, rushing into his closet and closing the door tightly behind him, which Vernon wasted no time in locking. "You'll stay in there until your Aunt and I figure out what to do with you. And no supper!" The last words were hissed through the grate before Vernon too closed that, leaving the ten-year-old boy in the darkness he become so accustomed to.

.T. 

Ellen Granger stared at the phone, a small, exasperated sigh escaping her lips for the millionth time. From beside her, a co-worker watched this with amusement, shaking her head.

"Just call him, Ellen," said the woman lightly, not unnerved by the glare sent her way. "The least that can happen is that they won't have any, in which case you can always check back every couple of days..."

"I haven't talked to Rand yet," explained the brunette woman, continuing to stare longingly at the phone. "I'm not so sure it would be a good idea to do this without him..." The other scoffed.

"Since when have you ever cared about getting Randle's opinion before you do something? And it's not like you're signing a contract of commitment; you're just checking." Ellen nodded her agreement, but continued to look torn.

"And there's also Hermione. It's been just the three of us forever, and now-."

"Ellen!" The woman cried, laughing. She picked up the phone, plastic pink fingernails shining brightly in the light, and then handed it to the dentist. "Just call."

Ellen smiled at her friend slightly, reaching out to grasp the phone with a shaking hand, and slowly punched in the numbers, bringing it up to her ear with a nervous sigh.

"Mr. Kilner's office, how may I help you?" Ellen smiled against the phone receiver at the sound of the familiar voice, her nerves slightly lessened.

"Hello, Andy, it's Ellen Granger. Is Vic in?" she asked. There was a yelp, a fluttering of papers, and the sound of a painful thud that made her cringe before she received a reply.

"Oh, Mrs. Granger! Of course, let me buzz him for you!" Ellen shook her head slightly at the secretary's antics. Andrea Cruise, when they had first met, had thought that she a Victor were having an affair, and always treated Ellen like she was royalty that was not to be kept waiting. Even now that she knew it wasn't the truth, she still tended to over react whenever one of the Grangers called.

"Ah, Ellen! What can I do for you?" a cheerful voice from the other line asked, interrupting her thoughts and making her smile return.

"Hello, Victor. You'll be thrilled about this, I'm sure. Now, I haven't talked to Rand yet, but I've been thinking for a while...I'd like to adopt" she breathed. She got the same reaction she had gotten with Andy earlier, except the thud didn't sound quite as painful.

"Adoption? Wonderful! I'll help you in any way I can! What are you looking for? A girl? A boy? How old, babe, child, teenager? Ask and you shall receive, my dear." Ellen chuckled at her friend's behavior.

"Actually, I was thinking a boy around Hermione's age, maybe just a tad older," she offered, listening as Victor began to type away on his keyboard.

"A boy about young 'Mione's age, you say. Tad older? Hm, let me see… " There was more typing, and Ellen shared a glance with her neighbor as Vic's voice sounded again.

"I'm afraid there's nothing in the category at the moment." Ellen's shoulders slumped slightly in disappointment. "But don't get yourself low in spirits just yet, El. People tend to put children up for adoption closer to the weekend, when they have time." The last few words were bitter and Vic resumed his typing. "Hmm... I'll tell you what. I'll keep an eye out, and if the one you're looking for becomes available, I'll call you. Is that alright?"

Ellen nodded against the phone, before realizing he could not see her. "That would be fine, Vic. Thank you."

"Any time, Ellen, any time. I'll talk to you later, then?"

"Of course. Thank you, Victor. Good bye."

After she had put the phone back on the hook, she looked over to the other woman, who had a sympathetic smile on her face, and gave her a small smile.

"If that wasn't a sign to talk to Rand-." The woman chuckled, and they both returned to their work, Ellen's heart a little lighter than before.

.T. 

"Well, what do we do with him? More chores? A week in the cupboard with no food?" Harry listened to his aunt's words closely, ear pressed against the door of his cupboard. Aunt Petunia had just returned from Dudley's school, her large son in tow, because he had managed to land himself in out of school suspension for the fourth time in the past six months. Vernon had thrust the note at her the second she had walked through the door, and the action had caused half-an-hour of screaming at him through the door, opening the grate so that he could see their beady brown eyes as they did so, and then a quiet calm as they discussed what to do with him. Harry knew Aunt Petunia's suggestion would not come to pass - that was his punishment for speaking out of turn, or smart mouthing Dudley. This was far too serious an offense. This called for something more like...

"I want him gone." Well, that certainly was not what Harry had been expecting. Uncle Vernon's voice became rougher as he continued. "I've had it with the boy, Petunia! We are constantly wasting money on him, wasting food that he doesn't hold down half of the time anyways. The boy is going." Going? But...where would he go? The Dursleys were his only living relatives! Harry pressed his ear further against the door, desperate to hear his Aunt Petunia's response.

"Gone? But...Vernon!" He was surprised to note a hint of fear in her voice. "What about...them? Surely they'll know! The letter! What if they come to check up on the boy?" Harry snorted softly at the thought of anyone doing such a thing. No one outside Little Whinging knew of his existence, and only and handful of those cared enough to say good morning. Why would anyone want to check on him, especially now, after nine years of not doing so?

Uncle Vernon seemed to have similar thoughts. "I doubt it. They haven't sent anyone to check up on him before, why now? And that letter is another reason to get rid of that worthless bastard. I will not have my family put in danger because of him." Harry flinched at the cold acknowledgement towards him, but felt a spark of curiosity. Letter? What letter?

"An orphanage, then?" Inquired his aunt after a moment, and Harry's emerald orbs widened in horror. Oh, please, no...

"Too expensive," replied Uncle Vernon negatively. "I'm not going to pay to get rid of him. No, I was thinking more along the lines of a…private adoption of sorts. Make them pay us instead of us paying them. I've already called up our lawyer, actually. He has all the paper work ready. There's no need for a judge, either. So long as the lawyer's present, it's all legal!"

Harry pulled away from the door as his uncle went into more detail about things he didn't understand, eyes filling with tears as he moved towards his cot. He...wasn't wanted; they were going to get rid of him. Who would want him? He was worthless, a freak...what else had Uncle Vernon called him? A bastard. God! He threw himself onto the hard material of his bed, burying his face into his thin pillow, allow the tears to overflow and escape down his face.

'Mum.' Harry had vivid flashes of a smiling, red-haired woman whenever he thought about his mother. His tears came faster as he thought about her now, about how she would hold him, smooth his hair back, whisper soothing things to him. How he yearned for her now, longed for her touch, for her voice, none of which he remembered how they felt. He snuggled further into his cot, shivering as his still-damp clothes gave him a chill, and his emerald eyes slowly fluttered shut as he cried himself to sleep, his aunt and uncle oblivious to the pains of their young nephew as they continued to discuss on how to get rid of him.

.T. 

Hermione Viola Granger, what are you still doing awake at this hour? It is far past your bedtime, young lady!" chided Ellen gently from the doorway of her daughter's room. A child with wild curly brown hair grinned sheepishly at her from over a book, brown eyes smiling with mirth.

"I'm sorry, Mum. I was just finishing Shakespeare's 'Romeo and Juliet'. It was simply too suspenseful to wait until morning to finish," insisted ten-year-old Hermione earnestly, closing the book carefully and gently placing it on her nightstand. Ellen smiled and moved to sit next to her.

"Did you enjoy it?" she asked, lightly pushing her down onto the mattress and drawing the pink comforter over her. Hermione looked thoughtful.

"The beginning was good, but the ending was sad. I do wish that Romeo had gotten Friar Lawrence's letter, so that he and Juliet could have lived happily ever after instead of dying. But then again, their death did cause the two families' feud to end, so in a way, it was good that they died," she answered. Ellen raised an eyebrow.

"Is that a yes then?" she asked, uncertain. Hermione beamed.

"Oh, most certainly! I'll have to go to the library tomorrow, though, and get a new book," Hermione obviously didn't know whether to sound disappointed or excited, so she settled for both.

"Well, it's a good thing the library is only down the street then, isn't it?" asked a teasing voice. Ellen jumped, causing Hermione to giggle and the other to laugh. Ellen turned to the figure and glared.

"Rand, that wasn't anywhere near humorous! You scared me to death!" she scolded. Her husband merely smiled and shook his head, brown eyes twinkling mischievously as he came inside.

"Sorry, love, it was just too good of an opportunity to miss. 'Mione thinks so too, don't you, sweetheart?" The child gave a small, fearful squeak and buried her face into her pillows. Her parents laughed softly at the sight.

"As entertaining as this whole thing is, I know of a certain little girl who has a day left of school and needs her beauty sleep," said Ellen, poking Hermione in the ribs pointedly. The girl lifted her head from her pillow, and she reached out her arms for the hugs and kisses of her parents.

"Good night, my darling. I love you," whispered Ellen in her ear, before she pulled back and pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead.

"I love you too, Mum."

Rand followed suit, hugging Hermione's small frame tightly before tickling her sides, causing her to burst out laughing.

"Ok, ok, you win! Come on, Daddy, I need to go to bed! I don't want to be late tomorrow!" she proclaimed in between giggles. Randle pulled away, giving his daughter a fond look before he leaned down and also pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Good-night, Princess, and sweet dreams. I love you."

"I love you too, Daddy. Good night!" she called to both of them as they reached her door.

Ellen sighed as they entered their room, sitting on her side of the bed with a bemused look on her face. Rand noticed this as he changed into his pajamas, and gave his wife a concerned look as he crawled in next to her.

"El?" he asked, placing a hand on her arm. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing," she said quickly. Rand rolled his eyes at her response, sitting up and turning slightly so he was face to face with her.

"Ellen," he said warningly, causing a small smile to appear on her face.

"Alright, alright! I was thinking… I want another child," she said quickly, diverting her eyes from her those of her husband.

"A-another child? But El, you barely survived Hermione's birth! How on Earth do expect to be able to handle-,"

"I know, I know. That's not what I'm talking about," she interrupted, facing him again. Rand looked confused.

"Then, what…?"

"Adoption, Rand. I want to adopt another child. We've always wanted a son, and this would be the perfect chance to get one. Hermione needs an older brother, you know. Not too old, so she could have someone to talk to. Maybe a few months older?" she suggested timidly, searching her husband's face hopefully. Rand looked kind of taken aback, but comprehension was dawning on him slowly.

"You mean, like going to an orphanage and kid shopping?" he asked finally. Ellen scoffed and shook her head.

"No, not an orphanage. I don't think I could stand it, walking in there and seeing all those kids looking at you with their hopeful little faces, practically begging you to take them home. I was actually thinking more along the lines of private adoption. I already called Vic, and he was ecstatic, of course…What do you think, Rand? Can we?" Ellen asked pleadingly, gazing deep into Rand's eyes with such intensity that the man had to look away. He looked thoughtful for a moment, and didn't answer for a while. Ellen was starting to get impatient when he finally spoke.

"A son, eh?" Ellen nodded vigorously, and Rand let out a sigh before turning to his wife, a smile on his face.

"Sure, why not?" Ellen let out a joyful cry, and threw her arms around her husband, kissing him fully.

.T. 

He bent over the large cauldron, frowning in concentration as he studied the contents alertly. The green hue it possessed troubled him greatly - it was supposed to be a very light yellow, though the cause as to why it wasn't was a loss for him. He had followed the directions directly, double, even triple-checking before continuing on to the next step. He had not substituted one ingredient for another...so what went wrong?

"How is it coming?" He raised his head slightly, blinking at his spouse, before making a face and returning to his work.

"Dismal," he replied with an exasperated snarl. "There must be something missing...but I can't figure out what...perhaps I should add another drop of Phoenix Tear..."

"Does it call for another drop of Phoenix Tear?" Asked the other, stepping forward. He paused before responding.

"No."

"Then don't." There was a sigh, and then hands gently wrapped themselves around his arms, drawing him away from the incomplete potion. He gave a growl of annoyance, but his spouse simply chuckled in response.

"Just come to bed," they implored. "You look exhausted, and some sleep may do you some good. Maybe you'll remember the missing ingredient."

"It's not that I don't remember it, it's that I didn't know it in the first place. And I can't leave the potion set for too long, it will spoil-."

He was effectively silenced as his spouse crushed their lips into his, and he completely forgot about the potion as he was dragged into their bedroom.

.T. 

"Hermione, don't forget to grab your lunch!" Randle smiled as he heard his daughter's shoes squeak on the wooden floor, and the clip-clop as they raced back towards the kitchen. Ellen came down the stairs, grinning at him brightly.

"Last day of school," she said softly, attempting to hide the laughter from her voice. They both rolled their eyes as Hermione came running towards the front door, looking as though Christmas had come early and she had gotten her favorite toy.

"Ready!" She cried, beaming widely at her parents. Ellen smiled, and was about to usher the child out the door when the high-pitched ringing of the phone cried throughout the house. She caught Randle's eye.

"That could be Vic. Would you mind taking Hermione...?" Her husband shook his head.

"Go ahead. Come on, Princess." He grabbed their daughter's hand and pulled her out the door as Ellen raced for the phone.

"Hello?" She asked breathlessly as she answered it. There was a pause.

"Ellen?" Vic's voice echoed. "Good, I was hoping I would catch you. Listen, I think I got the boy you're looking for." Ellen dared not say anything as he continued. 'Harry James Potter, ten-years-old, birthday, July 31st, 1980.' Put up for adoption by his aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of Little Whinging, Surrey. Now, I've already spoken with the lawyer, and he says the Dursleys are very eager to meet with anyone who's interested."

'Harry Potter...Harry James Potter...Harry James Potter-Granger...' 

"Ellen?"

"He...he sounds perfect. When can we see him?" It was perfect...a son...

"They said tomorrow at noon would be a good time. Should I tell them ok?"

"Y-Yes!" And Ellen laughed.

TBC


	2. Confuse Me

  
Author's notes: REVISED. DMHP preslash Adopted Harry fic. AU. Vernon doesn't want the freak anymore, and decides to leave his ten year old nephew with someone else. Dumbledore isn't going to like this Harry. Slyth Ha&Hr.  


* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Severus Snape, or any other character found within J.K. Rowling’s novels. I also do not intend this fanfiction as any form of slander, nor do I make any profit from it.

Apologies: For the long wait. I kinda forgot I had this thing posted…hehe… -vanishes-

Notes: I kept several things from the original second chapter, but I also added and changed things so that it would fit with the new plot. You won’t see our ‘potions couple’ again until chapter three, but I have introduced new mysteries for you to ponder. Enjoy!

Note: If you did not like this chapter, that’s good for you. However, if you intend to leave me a review saying “I don’t like it; it sucks; this would never happen; slash sucks” (etc., etc.) Let me save you the trouble by saying:

I. Do. Not. Care.

Leaving the reviews will result in me banning all anonymous reviews. So think before you insult, ok?

However, constructive criticism is welcomed. –grins- Feel free to pelt me with it, people. I’ll use it.

To reviewers: I am so glad you like this story. It may not seem like much now, but once we get to, oh, say, chapter five, you’ll see how much I’ve messed with J.K.’s plot… hehehehehehe… nah, I think I’ll do it this chapter. –beams-

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse, slash, language far too vulgar for a ten-year-old, and angst. What can I say? I love my angst.

Chapter Two

Eleven fifty-five of June thirtieth found two very nervous adult Grangers in the front of their Rolls Royce, occasionally taking their eyes off the road to exchange anxious smiles.

"Which street was it again?" Rand's voice held a slight shake to it when he spoke, and his wife gave him a knowing look before answering.

"Privet Drive, dear. Number four."

"Are you nervous?" he teased, smiling at her.

"Of course not!" Ellen's reply was indignant, but her attitude melted when her eyes fell on the solitary black '4' on the tan house outside Rand's window.

"Good, because we're here," he said brightly, pulling in.

.T.

Harry huffed slightly from his seat on the floor of the living room, ignoring his aunt's sharp glare as he twiddled with one of the buttons on his jacket. The outfit was old, yet another hand-me-down from his dear cousin Dudley. The only reason he had received it was because Uncle Vernon wanted these people…the Grangers…to like him, and he obviously thought putting Harry in an old, too big, and moth-eaten suit was the way to do it. Of course, he highly doubted that even an outfit as horrid looking as this would not distract the Grangers from his obvious injuries.

When Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had informed him of their plans (they had made sure to make it sound as hash as possible) Harry had stood before them calmly, taking it all in stride, and not letting an ounce of what he was feeling show on his face. But when they had finished and dismissed him, he had practically run to his cupboard to escape, and had thrown what few items he owned against his wall in fury. It angered him greatly that the Dursleys could cast him off so easily, with no feeling of guilt within them. However, these actions had not gone unpunished. Uncle Vernon had burst in, and the beating that followed had been one of the worst he had ever experienced. As his ribs bruised from the kicks, Vernon had ranted about how he took things they gave him for granted, complained about how spoiled he was. He had kicked him in the stomach, the legs, and the back. Only when his arm had snapped beneath the foot's pressure had he stopped, stumbling back, his face as white as a ghost.

Neither of them had even thought to take him to the doctor, resulting in Harry’s arm being a horrible blend of blues, blacks, yellows, reds, and purples. Even the slightest wrong move would set in aflame with the most unimaginable pain… putting on the suit had been torture.

"What time are they supposed to be here, James?" his uncle's crude voice cut through Harry's thoughts, and the raven-haired child looked up curiously.

"Noon, Vernon, be patient, and relax. I'm sure they'll take the boy at the reasonable price you're asking," assured the blonde-haired man, turning his hard blue eyes towards him. Harry flinched and looked away quickly. Though it was the first time Harry had ever met his uncle’s lawyer, he had already determined that he did not like the middle-aged man. The second James had looked upon him, his eyes had been filled with an unreadable emotion, one that sent chills down the child’s spine. Vernon merely grunted at his friend's answer, and went back to looking out the window, only to step away a second later.

"They're here. Petunia! Dudley! Quickly, to your places! James, if you would - thank you. Boy! Go…sit somewhere, and don't ruin anything! And remember, not a word about…that." Because he had turned towards the door, he missed Harry's eye rolling, though James did not. He gave the boy a hard smack on the back of his head as he walked past him, making sure to hit the area where Vernon had that day. Harry winced only slightly, ignoring the satisfied smirk on James’ face at the action. He sat on the floor near the fireplace, facing everyone so he'd be able to see the Granger's when they came in. He didn't have to wait long, for the next thing he knew, Uncle Vernon had opened the door and was greeting them in his falsely cheerful voice that always made him want to gag.

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger, come in, come in. I'd like you to meet my wife, Petunia, my son, Dudley, and Phil Johnson, our lawyer," the introductions were all very rushed, and Harry was amused to see the annoyed looks on the faces of the couple.

"Hello! It's a pleasure to meet the people who will be adopting young Harry. I was going to, myself, but the agency was looking for couples," said James brightly, smiling as he shook their hands firmly. Harry was startled by this release of information, and sent a silent thank you to whoever was watching over him.

"And, where is Harry?" asked Mrs. Granger, glancing around the room, as though expecting him to appear out of thin air. When her eyes finally rested on him, Harry stood quickly, brushing of his pants, and slowly walked over to them, taking a moment to observe them.

The man looked well enough. He had wavy black hair set atop a narrow, yet kind face. His body was well built, though it had a tense look about it as moved to join his wife. Harry’s breath truly caught when he looked at her, and he felt a small stab in his chest where his heart was. She was the epitome of the mother he had always imagined. She had a full, soft face with long, curly dark-brown hair. He froze as her light-green eyes locked with his, and could have sworn butterflies had been released in his stomach when she gave him a small, pleasant smile.

His uncle cleared his throat loudly, and Harry chanced a glance at the man, wincing at the cold gaze, and quickly spoke.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Granger," he said formally. He could see the startled looks in their eyes, and was surprised when the woman walked forward.

"Hello, Harry. Please, call me Ellen. And you can call this idiot Rand," she said softly, jerking her chin towards her husband, who gave an undignified snort before reaching out his hand.

.T.

Vernon watched the exchange with a greedy smile, and a bit of disgust. These two people were very well respected, and they were acting like… common people. If it weren't for the fact that he was going to get them to pay to take the freak, he would have kicked them out of his house right then.

But they seemed to like the boy, so that met that the deal was sealed, and in less than half an hour, the freak would no longer be a member of their household. He shot James a look, and the lawyer nodded, having come to the same conclusion.

"So, what do you think?" Inquired James, effectively breaking the trio apart. The Grangers looked up, as did Harry, though he did not meet the man's eyes.

"We'll take him!" Mrs. Granger cried instantly, not even bothering to consult her husband. However, Mr. Granger merely nodded, a smile on his face from his wife's antics, and ruffled Harry's mop of unruly hair, missing the boy's wince as he unknowingly grazed a sore spot.

James smiled nastily, and Vernon nearly jumped for joy. He pulled out the adoption papers from his pocket, unfolded them, and handed them to his blonde friend.

"If you could please fill out these. Also, we ask for an eight-hundred pound deposit-," Mr. Granger cut him off.

"Eight hundred pound deposit? What in the world for?" he demanded. Petunia gave a little sniffle, Dudley adopted a forlorn look, and Vernon feigned embarrassment as he spoke up.

"Well, you see, that is why we have to give Harry up for adoption. We love him dearly, but we simply cannot afford to give him the proper things and care a boy his age needs. Eight hundred pounds is no where near enough for our nephew, but it would be enough to help tie up his doctor bill debts," he said, looking down to hide the growing smile on his face.

"Oh, you poor things!" cried Mrs. Granger, digging into her purse for her wallet and a pen.

As Mr. and Mrs. Granger got everything sorted, Vernon calmly took his nephew by his bad arm and pulled him towards the stairs, and it was all Harry could do not to cry out. When they reached the banister, he bent over and pulled up a small suitcase, and shoved it into Harry's arms.

"Here are all your things. I put an extra pair of socks there, so don't call us asking for a birthday present," he whispered fiercely. Harry arched an eyebrow.

"Of course not, Uncle," he replied in the same scathing tone. Vernon's eyes flashed, but he instantly covered it up with a sad expression, and clapped the boy on his good shoulder.

"We're going to miss you, Harry. Be a good boy for the Grangers," he said in a loud, reluctant voice.

Petunia gave another fake sniffle, and then something akin to a wail of sorrow (though it sound more like a shriek of horror), and rushed out of the room quickly, followed by Dudley a few seconds later. The Grangers stared after them curiously.

"Are-are they alright?" asked Mrs. Granger after a moment. Vernon nodded, looking a bit teary-eyed.

"Ah, yes. They're just a bit upset over Harry leaving, is all. Petunia isn't one for long good-byes, and Dudley, well, he loves Harry like a brother, and this has been a bit hard for him." The couple nodded in understanding.

.T.

"Well, Harry, are you ready to go? Have you said all of your good-byes?" Harry nodded at Rand's questions, even though his answer was a lie. He didn't know these people, didn't know what to expect. Sure, they seemed nice enough, but so did Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia when company was around. They could be just like them, and the possibility made him cautious.

"All right then, let's go."

The Grangers all but ushered him out the door, barely giving Harry time to gawk at the Rolls Royce parked in the driveway before he was inside of it.

As they drove away, Harry watched number four, Privet Drive fade away from view, as it slowly dawned on him that he would never see it again.

.T.

A nasty grin was at home on Vernon’s face as the man closed his front door with a slam. His wife and son instantly stopped their feigned wailing at the loud sound, and darted (or in Dudley’s case, waddled) toward him, eagerly trying to view the piece of paper within Vernon’s chubby fingers, greedy expressions adorning all three faces as though they were Disney villains who were winning against the good guys.

James watched this for a moment with a nonchalant expression, before turning his cool blue gaze toward the clock. 12:30. A grotesque, twisted smile formed on the man’s face. Five more minutes…

“Is this valid, James?” Vernon called from over by the door. The lawyer fought the urge to sneer at the man’s stupidity. Whether it was valid or not would not matter. Alas, to keep up appearances was part of the plan, and he couldn’t exactly go against the plan, lest he be killed for incompetence.

And he did not wish to be killed for incompetence.

“Of course it is, Vernon,” he assured absently, forcing his smile to turn into a kind one. The eyes of the Dursleys lit up.

“Let’s go get my computer now!” Cried Dudley, and James winced as the wine assaulted his ears.

Two minutes…just two minutes.

“We will, Diddydums,” assured Mrs. Dursley, smiling down at her son. “How about we leave at two?” The boy scowled.

“No! I want it now!” James winced again.

Just one minute…

“What do we owe you, James?” Inquired Vernon suddenly, eyes narrowing slightly as he realized his lawyer showed no signs of leaving. James was unsurprised to hear a note of distrust in his voice. He obviously thought he was expected to give him some payment.

James’ eyes lit up as the large hand of the clock landed upon the thirty-five. A knock sounded on the door just as his skin began to bump and crawl, a signal to him that the potion was beginning to wear off. His face began to resemble something out of a Muggle horror film as Vernon answered the door.

“Yes, how may I – what the bloody hell?” James’ now smaller, beady blue eyes watched with unrestrained happiness as Vernon stumbled back into the house, a long, smooth black stick pointed right in his face, held by a gloved hand. He let loose a chuckle as the man fell to the floor, though it turned into a scowl as his wife began to scream.

“Silencio,” hissed the voice of the other, jerking their wand sharply toward Mrs. Dursley, effectively shutting her up. James quickly stumbled forward, eager expression in place, smirking as Vernon’s eyes went wide, realizing this was not the same man as before.

“You owe me your life, Vernon,” he whispered scathingly. The man’s eyes went wide as James withdrew his own wand.

“Avada Kedavara.”

It would be hours before anyone found the Dursleys, and by then, their murderers would be long gone.

.T.

The drive to Granger Manor was long one for Harry, nearly two hours. During the ride, Ellen had tried to strike up conversation, but had given up after receiving one-word answers in response. Then Rand had turned on the radio and started singing in a very horrible voice, so that by the time they had reached their destination, Harry was torn between killing himself and jumping out of the car to get away.

"Here we are!" said Ellen happily as they pulled up. Harry's emerald eyes widened at the size of the house. It was two stories tall, and looked to hold at least eight bedrooms, all of which were definitely on the top floor. The house itself seemed to be made of stone, with large glass windows that showed the inside.

"You live here?" he whispered, so in awe that he forgot he wasn't talking to them. Ellen beamed as Rand turned off the car.

"And now you do, too," she replied before opening her car door. Harry was about to do the same, but found it to already be open, with Rand Granger grinning down at him.

"Come on, Harry, let's go inside! I want to show you your room!" he said childishly, grasping Harry's right hand and pulling him out gently, leading him through the front door. He could hear Ellen laughing behind them in amusement as they climbed the stairs.

Finally, 100 steps later (Harry was sure he would be sore in the morning) they reached the top floor. Rand pointed out a room halfway down the hall.

"That's Hermione's room. She's our daughter, a bit younger than you. She's probably at the library right now, reading Bill Shorkinspear-,"

"William Shakespeare, dear," corrected Ellen, coming up behind them. Rand waved a hand dismissively.

"Yeah, him. Anyways, that's not what I wanted to show you." He led Harry to the next door, and opened it. "This is."

Harry studied the room quizzically. It's walls were a light green, which blended nicely with the pearly white carpet. There was an oak desk with a computer on it, and entertainment stand with a T.V. and an NES sitting on it proudly, along with a boom box. Next to the window was a black leather love seat, and in the center, resting peacefully against the wall, was a king sized bed, covered with a lime green comforter and pure white pillows. The room was could only be described in one word - dazzling.

Harry turned and faced the Grangers, confused.

"Don't you like it?" asked Rand, his excited look turning into a disheartened one. Now he was even more confused. What did it matter if he liked it? It wasn't like he was going to sleep here. At his lack of response, Ellen spoke up.

"Harry, honey, this is your room," she offered, shooting Rand a concerned look.

Harry blinked at the two, before turning back to the bedroom.

'I actually get my own room? Do they not have a cupboard?' he blinked, looking at all the stuff once more.

'This is all mine?'

"Mine?" he asked, looking slightly suspicious.

"All yours, kid," Rand promised, with Ellen nodding vigorously in agreement. He studied them once more, and then slowly walked in, examining it once again.

"Well?" demanded Rand again, practically hopping with anticipation. His new son turned back to him.

"Thank you,” he said softly.

"Think nothing of it, Harry. It's not like we were going to make you live in the closet!" said Ellen brightly. "So, who's up for lunch?"

"I ate earlier," lied Harry quickly. Ellen looked slightly put out, but nodded.

"Ok. If you're sure. We'll just go downstairs and let you settle in, then. Come and get us if you need anything!"

When they left, Harry quietly shut the door, leaning against it and letting and long suffering sigh. His arm throbbed painfully, as did his ribs from his previous exertion. He glanced at the bed. It was beautiful, elegant, far more so than Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia’s own king-size one. He walked over to it, laying his small hand upon it, and marveled at the softness.

But then his emerald green eyes fell upon the small, pure-whiteness of the closet door, and he felt a small tug at his chest. Slowly, he ambled toward it, opening the door with his good hand. It was dark and empty, a little larger than what he was used to, and with carpet to boot.

But it was familiar.

He walked in and situated himself on the floor, slowly peeling off his jacket, releasing a hiss as his arm burned once more. He lay down on his right side, cradling the injured limb against him, positioning his jacket with his good arm to serve as a blanket.

Images of his mother, once again running her hands through his hair, flooded his mind as his eyes began to close.

.T.

"I'm worried about him, Rand. He hasn't come downstairs all day. He has to be hungry. A boy his age can't go this long without food and not be!"

Rand merely nodded at his wife, paying no mind to her actual words as he shoved another spoonful of spaghetti into his mouth.

"Randle Eugene Granger!" Ellen snapped, causing him to wince.

"He's probably just tired, El. Give the kid a break, he's had a rough day. He'll be hungry tomorrow, I promise," he assured.

"And his clothes! Did you see them? What kind of people-."

"They're poor, Ellen. You heard them, doctor bill debts. They probably couldn't afford anything better." Before Ellen could retort, the front door slammed.

"Mum, Dad, I'm home!" Hermione's voice rang throughout the whole bottom floor as she walked into the kitchen, books loaded in her arms, which she deposited on the counter.

"Ms. Swineheart gave me a ride, so we stopped for dinner. Oh, is that spaghetti? Cricket!" Rand listened to his daughter fondly, smiling slightly at her word choice. Ellen, however, piled spaghetti onto a plate and thrust it into her young daughter's hands.

"'Mione, dear, since you have already eaten, would you mind taking this up to Harry? He hasn't eaten since he got here."

Hermione gaped at her for a second, before a large smile split across her face.

"You got him? He's here? Where?" she shrieked happily, nearly dropping the plate. Her parent's laughed.

"Yes, yes, and he's in his room, the one that adjoins to yours. Now would you please take this to him?"

"Sure!" As she took the plate and milk with her towards the stairs, she heard her mother's confusing exclamation.

"And his eye!"

.T.

"Ouch! Cricket! Who decided to put that bloody bed in the middle of the room?"

Harry's eyes flew open at the sound of someone's voice, and his entire body tensed up.

"Who's there?" he demanded, sitting up.

"Harry? Where are you? Oh, this is stupid! Where's the bloody light switch?" A minute later, a bright light filled the room, and Harry had to shut his eyes tightly against it.

"What are you doing in the closet?" A feminine voice asked. Harry cracked his eyes open, blinked a couple of times, and then finally let them remain open as he studied the intruder.

She was young, about the same age as him, with wild curly hair and cocoa brown eyes. She was dressed in street clothes, and a plate of what looked to be spaghetti was in her hands. She resembled the kind of girls he had watched Dudley pick on on more than one occasion.

"Are-are you Hermione?" he asked after a moment. The girl smiled at him, revealing abnormally large front teeth.

"Yup. I brought some food up for you," she held the plate up in proof. "Mum was worried about you because you haven't eaten all day." Harry stood up, and Hermione stared at him.

"What?" he asked irritably.

"What happened to your arm?" she demanded, placing the plate on the desk. Harry glared at her, moving towards it.

"I hurt it." The response was blunt, making it clear he didn't want to talk about it, but Hermione was persistent.

"How?"

"None of your business," he growled, sitting in the computer chair and grabbing the fork off the plate. "You're rather rude." Hermione shrugged, unfazed, and sat on the arm of the loveseat. Harry chose to ignore her for the moment, opting to eat rather than argue. He scooped up a large fork-full of the meal and shoved it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing quickly as

Hermione giggled.

"What now?" he hissed, exasperated. The girl stopped instantly, though her eyes sparkled brightly. He frowned at her, making her smile nervously.

"Nothing. It's just, that, well, you eat like a pig." Harry’s scowl deepened.

“And you’re acting like a bitch,” he snapped back. For a moment, Hermione was taken aback, staring at him with wide, surprised eyes, before she adopted an identical look of distaste.

“Then you can just…eat alone!” She cried jumping up and making her way toward the other door of the room.

“Fine!” He snarled back. They stared at one another for a moment, before Hermione jerked the door open.

“You do have a bed, you know,” was all she said before she walked through it and slammed it, the sound of a latching lock quickly following. Harry looked down at his plate, his appetite suddenly gone. Very gently, he set the plate on the desk and stood, making his way back toward the closet.

“You do have a bed, you know.” Hermione’s voice echoed in his mind, and he stopped, glancing back at the bed. It was soft and inviting. Very slowly, he moved toward it.

First time for everything, he supposed.

.T.

Fists, punching… everywhere. And pain, there was lots of pain. Vernon was standing over him, laughing maliciously as he brought his fist down again. 

"Harry, Harry, wake up! It's just a nightmare! Harry!"

Someone was shaking him, calling to him. Emerald pools shot open, catching a glimpse of wild hair and concerned brown eyes.

"Hermione?" he croaked. She smoothed his hair, and realized with a start that it was wet.

"Yeah, Harry, it's me. Shhh, now, it's all right. You just had a nightmare," she soothed. He blinked. Nightmare? “You’re freezing. Why aren’t you covered up?” Hermione reached out to help sit him up, unknowingly grasping his injured arm. Harry gave a cry of pain, and Hermione instantly let it go.

“What did you do, break it?” She demanded, reaching for it again.

“It’s fine,” Harry declared, trying to pull it back. However, Hermione was quicker than he, and quickly latched onto it.

Harry’s arm was immediately enveloped in a bright white glow, a white glow that seemed to be emitting from Hermione’s hands. Waves of soothing warmth washed over the aching appendage, and the pain began to die down to an insignificant throb. The light slowly began to die down until it completely vanished, leaving Harry and Hermione to look only at one another for answers.

“What the fucking hell was that?” Whispered the older boy. Hermione was about to respond when the bedroom door flew open and the light switch turned on, to reveal two very alarmed looking Grangers.

“What’s going on in here?” Demanded Randle as Ellen quickly moved toward the bed. Hermione shot her new brother a glance, before answering.

“Just a nightmare.”

.T.

He sauntered about, limping back and forth, to and fro, beady blue eyes glancing every other second toward the door. His partner snorted at his antics from a chair in the corner, but offered no verbal jab.

They had done their job. They had done it! The Dursleys were dead; gone! Why were they being kept waiting?

“Maybe he’s changed his mind,” he offered doubtfully. The other man sighed.

“Wormtail, you worry too much!”” He snapped. “The boy means far too much to him and his son for his mind to have changed! Relax!” The animagus was about to offer a protest when the door opened.

“His Lordship will see you now.”

TBC

OK, so so far it doesn’t have anything on Liberate Me, My Lord Potter, or Lupus Parvulus, but it’s holding its own…

I honestly hadn’t planned on killing the Dursleys off until I actually started writing. But I realize that if you don’t so something with them, they tend to get in the way in later chapters.

Very annoying.

Next Chapter: Harry and Hermione sibling bonding, birthdays, and more plot development. Big, LONG chapter. –nods- You’ll love.

OK, I gotta go now. I have another story to post tonight –gags- By request of friends –sighs- And I have an essay to write that I haven’t even started yet… Yeah… 

Later

-Brit

PS: Thoughts on the GoF movie? I have some, but will refrain from giving them incase some have yet to see it. But…thoughts?


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